<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Heartstrings by honeyedcalcite</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325457">Heartstrings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedcalcite/pseuds/honeyedcalcite'>honeyedcalcite</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But Only a Little Bit - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Scottish Honeymoon Fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:28:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,338</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedcalcite/pseuds/honeyedcalcite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan Sims hasn't had normal in years, but somehow his day manages to be just that</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heartstrings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A Scottish honeymoon fic in this trying time?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon woke up warm. The rays of sun that peeked between the blinds laid across his cheeks. Martin was curled up against his side, an arm slung over his waist. There was a gentle weight on his chest, The hand he had sent up to prod it met soft fur, and the quiet “Mrrp?” set off a chainsaw loud purr. He cracked open an eye and wrinkled his nose against the gaping, stinky maw of the cat as she yawned. She looked perfectly pleased at his disgust.<br/>
“God- good morning to you too, Valentine.” Jon kissed her forehead, and she headbutted his nose only a little painfully. His head fell back against the pillow, but she seemed unconcerned as long as she was being petted. He absentmindedly continued the motions as his eyes slipped back closed, warm and content. </p><p>The next time he was jostled awake by Martin pulling him close. Jon was turned onto his side so that he may be spooned. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he brought Martin’s hand to them. “Morning, Martin.” The warmth was tempting, but judging by the light it must’ve been nearing 10. He kissed Martin’s knuckles lightly and made an attempt to shrug off his arm.<br/>
An attempt which was thwarted by a grumble, a nuzzle at the nape of his neck, and an instant tug back against a warm, broad chest. Jon leaned back into it for a moment, but tapped against his forearm to get his attention. “I’ve gotta go feed the cat.” He felt lashes blearily blink against his neck.<br/>
“Wha’ cat?” His voice was thick with sleep, but Jon’s brow raised. “We don’ got a cat.” That seemed to be all the convincing he needed to try and slip back into sleep.<br/>
“I can’t believe- come on, it’s late. Don’t want her to go hungry longer than she already has.” Martin let go of his waist and propped himself up on his elbow.<br/>
“Did you let one of the village cats in last night?” He was still mussed up and bleary, but the press of a pillow against his cheek no longer slurred his words. He looked amused, and more than a little confused.<br/>
Jon sat up, a bit annoyed as he untangled himself from Martin’s arms. “No- of course not. How do you forget about an entire cat? You’re the one who dragged me to the shelter in the first place. And as the sensible one in the relationship, I had to say-” The warm weight in his chest turned cold. “No. I said no.” Jon laid back down, right hand curled over his chest where he could’ve sworn a cat had lain not an hour ago. “That’s right, must’ve been a dream.” </p><p>A quiet consideration hung between the two of them for a moment. Jon’s hand was taken, and the cold spot in his chest replaced by warmth. His hand was deposited in tight, wiry curls. He looked in surprise for a moment at Martin’s head on his chest.<br/>
“Tell me about her?”<br/>
The rush of fondness he felt made his breath shake. He petted Martin’s curls lightly, careful not to snag any tangles. “She was a Bengal, I believe. Beautiful brown fur. Small, at least physically,” Jon stage whispered conspiratorially. “A bit tubby though.”<br/>
Martin chuckled, Jon’s smile from before returned to his lips. “Her name was Valentine, it suited her, needy little thing.”<br/>
Martin teased. “Your idea then?”<br/>
Jon tugged at a coil of hair, just enough for it to prick. “Oh definitely. I’d like to know what your idea would’ve been, Dorothy maybe?”<br/>
Martin laughed and batted Jon’s hand away, he didn’t stop it though when it settled back into his hair. “I think Dorothy is a lovely name for a cat.”<br/>
“Lovely name for a grandmother maybe.”<br/>
Martin huffed, turning over to face Jon, head still on his chest. His lower lip jutted out in a pout, but Jon Knew he was biting the soft skin inside to keep from smiling. “So mean to me, mocking me relentlessly.” He wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck, and so Jon leaned down to kiss his worried lip.<br/>
The silence that hung between them this time was warm and inviting, nothing missing between them. </p><p>It was nearing 11 when they finally agreed to leave the cozy confines of their bed. Martin elected to take a shower, while Jon dressed himself for a walk. The safehouse sat at the top of a hill at the edge of the woods. Easier to see someone coming from a high vantage point, and easier to slip away under the thatch of trees. For now, though, it made for pretty good exploring.<br/>
He traveled northeast today. This side of the hill was a bit more of a trek to the base than the southern side and delved deeper into the woods, rather than into the village. There was a slight worn path in the dirt that he followed. A clear route made it harder for him to get lost in thought until sundown. Not that there were any thoughts bouncing around in his head on his walks. None that were his, anyway. More often than not it was a catalog. Not only were the walks a breath of fresh air, but they served as a bit of a snack as well.<br/>
The movement of each blade of grass, the rustle of the leaves, the light that bounced off the pale dirt, all of it was catalogued. It was nice to be able to catalogue something useless. It didn’t feed him much, or for all that long, but Knowing without fear of being known felt good. </p><p>The mindless hum of observation ceased when he stumbled upon a clear, shallow pool. Really he nearly stumbled into it, but as long as the legs of his pants were dry he would say it was stumbled upon.<br/>
The pool was no more than five inches deep, minnows and tadpoles darted away from his feet. A few large, black rocks jutted up from the shore of pebbles and smooth stones. He sat on a decently flat one and trailed his gaze up the trees. They were tall, thin silver birches. Jon knew he should’ve been disquieted by the eyes surrounding him, but his own slipped closed. He felt… safe. Almost like he was sat at the throne of the watcher, eyes peering into him.<br/>
The thought jostled him from his musings. He collected himself and darted back along the trail he came from; though something within him longed to return to the pool. </p><p>The sun wasn’t quite setting by the time he returned to the safehouse, but the kitchen was painted in the warm yellow glow of the afternoon. Martin was sat at the table, quietly eating a pastry. There were crumbs on his cheeks, and flour streaked across his pants where he no doubt wiped his hands earlier. He hummed when Jon padded over and smiled sweetly.<br/>
“Found some blueberries in the freezer,” His nose wrinkled, but his grin turned toothy. “Subtle notes of year-old cold.”<br/>
Jon leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth. Martin sighed and caught Jon’s lips before he could get too far. He tasted of butter, sugar, and something bitter that wasn’t freezer burned blueberries. “Mmmm, find a chocolate bar in there too?” He laughed against Jon’s mouth, just a quiet whisper of air, but it made his heart flutter.<br/>
“Stopped by the candy shoppe in town, much classier than I expected.” Jon plucked one of the scones from the sheet tray on the counter and pulled up a chair next to Martin. He didn’t need to eat, but the normality of it felt nice. Of sitting in the kitchen with his boyfriend on a spring afternoon, eating pastries together. He knew in the back of his mind that it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t, not for them, but for now, he rested his head on Martin’s shoulder, and indulged in comfort.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>